Let me not to the breeding of true goatsadmit false excrement.Poop is not poop that alters when it constipation finds.Or bends with the mucker to remove.No, it is an ever-tumbling rain of pelletsThat stick to hooves and shan’t be shaken.It is the dung on every wand'ring bark,Whose worth’s unknown, although its grams be taken.Poop’s no mere stool, that wagging buttsand…